Afraid You'll Die, Afraid You Won't
by fragrantfields
Summary: Prequel to Deadwood. Trixie's on a downhill slide, her laudanum addiction making her hit bottom with tragic results. One of the Deadwood gang will help. One will turn his back and prepare for the worst, afraid to hope for better. M re: Deadwood language.


"**Afraid You'll Die, Afraid You Won't"**

It was in that last joint they worked in Cheyenne. Al rented the whole place. Big place, lot of rooms.

She'd been flying on her laudanum high, half in, half out, nothing hurt anywhere.

Al bending over her, yelling, shaking her.

_Let me sleep. _

_God, he's mad._

"Too fuckin 'high to yell for help."

He was talking to somebody over his shoulder.

"That's why I gave him two for one. I heard about that bastard. Figured with two…" His voice trailed off.

Her bed was a big hammock, swaying back and forth in a summer breeze. Up, and down, and up. She could feel sunlight on her face.

"Trixie okay? He hurt her any?"

_Why's the new guy in here? Al don't like the help visiting._

"Oh, _she's_ fucking _fine_. Slept through the whole thing. Useless."

Her mouth twitched in a frown_. He's got that tone. God, go the fuck away!_

"Take her downstairs, out the back. Undertaker's a regular. Take this. Don't let him make you pay full price."

Bills rustled. She smiled in her sleep. _I know that sound._

_Arms and legs so heavy._

Roosters and wagons outside. The day's racket started.

Head hurt like a mother-fucker_._

_Shit, did I take too much again? Why am I still in the receiving room? Why's he here?_

"What?" She tried to focus on her boss, raising herself up on her elbows.

"Get a good night's sleep?" He bit off the words, arms crossed, expressionless.

"What are you so pissed off about? Where's Darla?"

She looked around the dingy room. There was the table, she was on the bed…the trunk was in the middle of the room. _He'd been fuckin' Darla on top of the trunk, holding her neck. Then her own eyelids got so heavy…_

He got up, the wicker chair creaking. Walked over to her side. He picked up the clear glass bottle off the window sill. It was half-full. He sat it down on the table next to her.

She looked up at him. The bags under his eyes were almost black. Green eyes were flat and bloodshot.

"Darla's at the undertaker's."

"What's she-"

He picked the bottle up and slammed it down, hard.

"I should pour this down your fucking throat."

His arm shook with the effort it took to take his hand off the bottle and not go for her neck. He looked at her eyes, still glassy. He could smell the stink of her unbathed body, her sour breath. He turned away.

"You want to go ahead and get it over with, feel free. Just…do it in your room. You're holdin' up business."

"Al, what the _fuck_—"She slumped back down as he left.

She could hear him talking to Jewel outside the door.

"Not another fucking word. Keep her out of my sight."

Jewel got one of the boys to help Trixie to her stuffy cramped room.

Jewel was in there a lot.

Al saw Jewel bringing up tea. Heard crying, retching. Early on he heard a scream.

"Al said to keep it down. Damn, did something die in here? "

Davy heard a muffled "Fuck you" from under the bedclothes.

Jewel wrestled with bedclothes dripping with vomit and other fluids, bad leg dragging behind her.

AL watched her struggle with the load.

"Take those out the back. And quit looking at me like that."

Nobody asked why Trixie was taken off the floor. A couple of the whores started talking about her in the past tense.

One approached Al, offered to help.

"You can buy her a bottle of dope. Pass the hat, make it a big one." Nobody else mentioned her near Al after that.

He could tell people quietly went into her room sometimes. He heard moaning at odd hours.

He quit looking in that direction.

She tapped at his open door. Clean, a little color in her cheeks, looking at him with clear blue eyes. Hand steady on the doorknob. She gave him a tentative smile. Her blond hair was shiny and smelled like soap and flowers.

"Yeah?" He looked up from his books.

"I'm better."

"So…get downstairs and get to work."

She nodded and started down the hall.

"Trixie!" She turned.

"Any time you're not fucking, I better see you helping Jewel."

She nodded, went on downstairs, steps steady and light.

He went around his desk and shut his door. He leaned his head against the doorframe.

Almost wished he was a believer.

He said a soundless "Thank you" anyway.


End file.
